


Useless, Weak-Willed

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Huxloween & (K)inktober 2016 [5]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Camboy Ben Solo, Cybersex, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, Huxloween, M/M, Masturbation, Skeletons, Spanking, Underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8321146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: Armitage is left alone to endure Brendol's distaste for his academic progress, decisions regarding his own future, and choice of personal associates while Ben is called away to spend time with his extended family. Unable to process his grief at being picked apart, Armitage unloads his baggage during an intimate encounter in a manner that leaves him confused and upset.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another [Huxloween & (K)inktober](http://avaahren.tumblr.com/post/151128365869/kawaiiloren-ivanhoenineteenninetyfour) prompt mashup, this time for Day 5: _sad, humiliation, Halloween fashion._
> 
> This skewed wildly toward "sad" and thus the humiliation kink turned out far less fun than originally intended and I'm not really sure I even did it right to begin with. One of them seems to really enjoy it at least? 
> 
> Semi-spoilery warning for potentially triggering dialogue/plot elements inspired by the _weak-willed; thin as a slip of paper and just as useless_ scene from the "Life Debt" novel in the endnotes. This is not a happy fic in any sense.
> 
> As always, Millicent is an articulated cat skeleton, just in case that kind of thing squicks you.

“I can’t believe you’re still soaking wet. We got in hours ago.”

Ben ducked his head and peered at his reflection on the glass door of the display cabinet. They’d settled in the den with their books, testing the waters of the Commandant’s tolerance. Armitage insisted that it wasn’t an issue to have Ben at the house while Brendol was home.

 _I’m not forbidden from having company._ He’d said, a scowl on his face. _You make it seem as though I have to ask permission to use the head._

_No, just to get head._

_Don’t be rude._

Ben raked his fingers through his damp hair and flipped the bulk of it over to one side. They’d been caught in a sudden downpour that had stopped seemingly as soon as they’d stepped across the threshold of the house.

“The perils of inheriting your mother’s hair.”

“She’s always got that braid in when she does press conferences.”

“Mmm.” Ben picked up his phone and squinted at it, scrolling rapidly through his Instagram grid and stopping abruptly. “Used to let her hair down a little.” He passed the phone up over his shoulder to Armitage.

“Wow.” His brows shot up in surprise at the bright smile on Senator Organa’s much younger face. Thick hair fell in curtain around her shoulders and a straw-brimmed hat left dappled shadows across her face in the sun. It was side-by-side with a photo of a much younger Ben, a similar smile on his face and presumably the same hat on his head. The pair was captioned _#tbt_ with no further commentary. “Not that she’s unattractive now, but your mother was stunning, Ben.”

He spoke not without the slightest pang of jealousy and longing in his gut.

“She was, wasn’t she?” Ben took his phone back and looked at his reflection again. “I was thinking about shaving it all off.”

“Don’t you _dare_.”

“Or just half.”

“You’d look ridiculous.”

“It’s my head, ‘Tige.”

“And I’m the one that has to look at it.” He smirked playfully and chucked a balled up sheet of paper in Ben’s direction. It bounced off of his shoulder and he feigned agony at the strike. Armitage flushed pink and shifted the tablet in his lap, pushing a book away to lean closer.

The Commandant’s voice rang out from the entryway. “Is your _colleague_ going to be joining us for dinner?” His tone seemed inviting enough but the cold glint in his eye said otherwise. Armitage flushed a deeper red, shaking his head as minutely as he could manage in Ben’s direction.

Ben looked at Brendol Hux the same way a farmer at a 4-H auction might survey a prospective purchase. Dark eyes sparkled with something wicked as they sweep over the Commandant’s neatly cropped beard and thick neck. He seemed to count the buttons on the front of his cardigan, noting the way one or two of them strained against the Commandant’s chest and belly. Ben unfolded himself from where he was sitting on the floor against the couch, his shoulder brushing Armitage’s knee as he rose. Long-limbed and broad, he dwarfed Armitage’s father considerably even with the distance that they stood apart.

Ben held out a hand as he stepped forward. “Mr. Hux,” he said purposefully. “I don’t think I’ve ever had the honor of officially meeting you.”

The Commandant’s nostrils flared and relaxed again. “I know enough about you.” He looked at Ben’s hand but didn’t take it. “Armitage,” He looked past Ben to where his son was still perched stiffly on the couch. Armitage stood, moving beside Ben and just a half step in front as if trying to act as a shield. “You are aware that Governor Randd is with us this evening.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Commandant’s gaze was unwavering.

Ben turned his most radiant smile on the Commandant. “No need to trouble the chef, Mr. Hux. I wasn’t planning to stay. Armitage was just helping me with a few sources I was having trouble finding for my thesis. Having a different perspective helps quite a bit. Armitage has a fantastic head on his shoulders.”

“Yes, well, Randd will be arriving soon. I expect you dressed for dinner.”

Armitage nodded, “Yes, sir. We were just finishing here.”

The Commandant turned on his heel and left the room. He could be heard on the stairs, answering some muffled question called down the hall from his wife.

Armitage let out a shuddery breath. “I completely forgot.”

Ben smiled softly and knelt to gather his things. “Don’t worry about it.” With his books and his laptop tucked safely into his backpack he made his way toward the door, Armitage close on his heels. “Hey,” he said quietly, peering over Armitage’s shoulder and past the front foyer. “You okay?”

Armitage swallowed thickly, “I’m fine. I just…” He trailed off, pushing both hands through his hair and breaking up some of the product that held it in place. He looked artfully frazzled when he dropped them again. “I don’t like Randd. He puts the Commandant in a _mood_.”

“’Tige—“

“Don’t. He’ll hear.”

Ben nodded. “I’m going to be away for a couple of days this week.”

“I remember.”

“But I’m a text away.”

“I know.” Armitage pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “It’s really not as horrific as you make it all out to be, Ben. I’ve lived like this as long as I have memory. It’s not all that bad.”

“Uh-huh. Text me.” Ben ducked his head as if looking down to fish something out of his coat pocket and pressed his lips to Armitage’s throat. He straightened and smiled, turning to wave over his shoulder half-way down the front walk.

Armitage watched him go for a moment, calculating the speed he’d have to use to shower and change for dinner before Randd arrived in his head with each fleeting moment that he watched Ben walk away.

The Commandant’s wife was the perfect hostess.

She was demure and challenging in turn, each side of herself rising to the surface when applicable. She graciously accepted compliments on the home she did not decorate and the meal she did not cook and the wine she did not choose. She fluffed her husband’s ego and flirted with Randd in a way that toed the line of impropriety but never crossed it.

None of her skills were any use where Governor Randd was concerned. With the personality and posture of a sewing needle, he was difficult to thread. Stone faced and even-toned, he seemed either never or perpetually perturbed. The Commandant’s wife remained unrelenting in her hospitality regardless.

“Well, it seems, at the very least, that you’ve grown yourself a fine son there, Hux.”

The commandant sniffed and took a deep sip of his wine, his cheeks a faintly ruddy color. “Well, now that he’s made up his damned mind at the very least.” Randd raised a brow, eyes shifting from one Hux to the other. “Though, I’d hoped for much higher than he aspires.”

“ _Sir_ , I—“

“You’re in graduate school now, yes?”

“Yes, sir.” Armitage nodded and shifted his shoulders back, turning his attention to the governor. “I’m pursuing a degree in history.”

“I thought you were going to be a lawyer, last time your father and I spoke. Aren’t you working for a firm?”

“Yes, sir. That had been the intent. I was pre-law during my undergraduate studies—government and psychology.”

“That’s certainly an interesting combination. What on Earth made you jump ship?”

“I realized it wasn’t for me. The double major was quite a course load, not that it was difficult, but it was intense in a way that wasn’t fulfilling. And interning at the office certainly put things in perspective. I enjoy it, but I don’t think that I could live like that.” The Commandant huffed and gnashed his teeth against an overly-large bite of meat.

“What do you plan on doing with a history degree?”

“I could do quite a lot, sir. I might still attend law school, of course. I’ve had a conference or two with the admissions people at Yale. They’re quite interested. But at the moment a career in academics—perhaps as an archivist—is what I’ve got my sights set on.”

“Useless, of course.”

“ _Sir_ —“

“Armitage has always been wishy-washy when it comes to decisions like that. I’d hoped the Academy might have trained that out of him.” Armitage took a deep, silent breath and sipped from the glass of cool, clear water in front of him. “Weak-willed—and thin as a slip of paper! Always, always. Sometimes I’m glad he defied me, didn’t enter the service as was expected of him. Wouldn’t have survived, I think.”

Armitage focused on his utensils, sliding his knife through his steak and dabbing it against garlic-laced mashed potatoes before slipping the precisely cubed bite between his teeth. He imagined himself so clearly passing the fork’s tines against his tongue and then stabbing them through the back of the Commandant’s hand as he rested it against the table, continuing to spew venom over the dinnerware, that he almost thought he’d done it when the Commandant’s wife disturbed his fantasy.

“Oh, _darling_ , Armitage isn’t quite as bad as all that now. He’s an accomplished scholar! Wasn’t it just this past week that the debate team he’s leading at the university won some competition?” The feigned sincerity in her voice was like a plea. The Commandant was edging toward drunkenness, his lips were loose.

“Riding on the accomplishments of others is—“

Randd tuned to Armitage and said he’d heard of the competition, had known a student that was knocked out in an early round. “That was you coaching those boys?”

“Yes, sir.” Armitage placed his hands in his lap, index finger curling over and rubbing along the steady black bands tattooed around his thumb—careful not to rub too hard and wipe the concealer over them away.

“Very interesting. Their arguments were rather creative. Far leaps in logic at times, but still somehow very sound. You’ve done well by them.”

“Thank you, sir.” The span of the several minutes that they’d spent since Randd had brought him up as a subject contained the most words collected into single statements that Armitage had heard him make all night.

“Creative. _Hmmff._ I suppose one must resort to creativity every so often. Something I do hope Armitage _does not_ make habit of. Though how it’s avoidable when he spends all of his time with _philosophy_ students is beyond me.”

“Sir, Ben is—“

“A new-age crook, filled with weird ideas about the influence of the cosmos and the infinite reality of time and its influence on human nature and the collective hive-mind. As if I haven’t read his papers, Armitage, _really_. And I can’t believe that Dr. Snoke—“

“Dessert! Shall I pop it in the oven now? If I remember correctly, you prefer your coffee strong, Governor, yes?” The Commandant’s wife rose from her seat and smoothed the front of her skirt calmly.

Later that night, Randd safely seen off, Armitage hid in the solace behind his closed bedroom door. He pressed his back to the firm surface of it, twiddling with the lock and knowing it was best just to leave it. He took several deep breaths, steadying himself, and crossed to his display case. Opening it carefully, he lifted out the articulated cat and carried it to his desk, clearing a space to set it down.

“You’re due for a dusting.” He sat, digging through the small cabinet beside the desk for the bottle of polish and a couple of soft cloths, first meticulously brushing non-existent dust away from the delicate bones. “Millicent, you’re looking quite well.” He ran a curled finger just behind the mandible, the articulation curled as if in slumber. Picking up the bottle of polish, he set to carefully applying a blinding shine to the sleek wooden base.

The Commandant didn’t bother to knock. “You shouldn’t stay up late. We’re expected at breakfast with Randd and the others in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I’ll appreciate you not attempting to contradict me in front of such important associates again, Armitage.”

“Yes, sir.” He paused in his polishing and looked up, an amiable expression on his face.  The Commandant’s nose and cheeks had gone truly red with drink. He tried to put the night out of his mind. His father was always prone to insult and argument when around the old boys, anyway. Armitage supposed it was a remnant of running the Academy for so many years—a remnant of having lost it. “Good night, sir.”

The Commandant nodded and closed the door. Armitage listened to his steps fade down the hall, the echo of another closing door following.

He shuddered and curled his fingers into fists, counting in his head. Carefully, he lifted the articulated cat and brought it back to the display case. Hands freshly washed, he stood in the center of his bedroom full of restless energy. He stripped out of his dinner clothes and crawled into bed in his underwear and socks and snatched his tablet from the nightstand. Tired, his vision blurred.

While the tablet booted up, he picked his glasses up and pushed them onto his nose, sighing with the relief that came with the aid to his sight. He scrolled through his email, deleting several with little consideration as to the contents. His fingers hovered over the _HANGOUT_ icon, doubtful that Ben was online at all.

Like he’d sensed Armitage’s hesitance through some psychic connection, Ben’s profile photo filled the screen and prompted Armitage to answer the video call.

He did, electing to keep his camera off.

“Hey, ‘Tige.”

“Hi,” he spoke softly, not wanting to disturb the relative silence of the house at that hour.

“How’d it go?” Ben’s earnest smile spread across the display, a bit disjointed by the slow response of the pixels.

“Fine! Fine. Uneventful. Breakfast tomorrow should be interesting. It’s all of them together then.”

“’Tige, I can come home.”

“You _are_ home, Ben.”

“No, home-home. To you.”

Armitage’s eyes filled with stinging wetness. He blinked rapidly, willing the tears away. “That’s not necessary. It’ll only make your mother dislike me more.”

Ben snorted, amused. “I wanna see you. What’s up with your camera?”

“I look like hell, it’s turned off.”

“Why?”

“I’m tired, Ben. It’s been a long night.”

“Oh. Well, then I’ll let you go. You should sleep.”

“I’m not that tired.”

“Then let me see you!”

“No, Ben.”

“Fine.” His eyes tracked to the side and he tapped lightning-fast fingers over his keyboard.

“How is your visit going?”

“It’s going. Maz is here. She’s always entertaining.” Armitage asked who that was, leaning over and rummaging for his earbuds in the drawer and putting them in. "Mm, a family friend? I guess. Dad's known her for as long as I can remember—maybe even longer than he's known mom, I think. She's wicked smart but she's also very, erm..." Ben trailed off, at a loss for words. In lieu of verbal explanation he widened his eyes and moved very close to the camera, waving his hands like he was casting a spell. He knocked into the edge of the laptop screen and the image shook until Ben re-steadied the device.

"Oh, my."

"Uh-huh. It's really quiet out here."

"Where are you again?"

"Vermont. Mom's family has a place up in Dover." Ben raised a brow. "See, not home."

"Is it very different there?"

"Yeah. Lots of trees."

"You sound like you're bored out of your mind, Ben."

"I am! I hit traffic on the way up so I called ahead and told them not to hold up dinner on my account. When I got here Mom was on some kind of emergency conference call. Dad didn't stay up much longer—he’d been on a plane all day. Maz too, she fell asleep in the den." Ben pouted prettily. “I’ve just been hanging out in my room.”

"Your uncle?"

"Luke'll be here tomorrow."

“A regular family reunion, sounds like.”

“I guess.” Ben propped his cheek against his fist, looking down at the keyboard in the most melancholy of ways. “I’d just rather be elsewhere.”

“Ben, I’m going to say something that you’re not going to like.” He furrowed his brow and frowned at the camera. “Your family might be a fucking pain in the ass. You may never feel like your good enough for them. You might be… I don’t know. Utterly and perpetually annoyed with them or—or—totally disinterested in them. They may expect more of you than you’re prepared to give.”

“’Tige, why are you trying—“

“But you better know _damned well_ they love you.”

Ben flushed red, evident even over the pixelated connection. “What happened tonight?”

“Nothing.”

“Armitage, don’t fuck around if—“

“Nothing happened, _Benjamin._ ”

“Benjamin?” Ben asked incredulously, his face screwed up in displeasure.

“Yes, Benjamin, as in Benjamin Solo, the ruddy idiot on my tablet screen.”

“My name isn’t _Benjamin._ ”

“Well then what the hell is Ben short for?”

“It’s not short for anything, it’s just _Ben_.”

“That’s preposterous. Ben is short for Benjamin. Or Bennet. Or Ebenezer. Or—”

“Yeah, well, tell that to my mother.” He cracked the faintest of smiles. “I never met the guy, but apparently it was a nickname of some important friend of the family. And he wasn’t Benjamin or Bennet or Ebenezer, either.”

“That’s disgustingly sentimental.”

They fell quiet. Ben stretched out on his stomach, staring with unfocused eyes at the computer in front of him, something on the screen reflected against his face in moving colors. Armitage watched him, listened to him breathing, studied the softness of his lines in repose.

The stress of the evening washed over him in a way that surprised him. Why couldn’t he have what Ben had? Why did Ben seem so determined to deny what he so clearly was handed by life?

Sometimes he wanted to literally slap sense into that thick head.

Angry, Armitage’s skin grew hot. His heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears. Blood boiling, it seemed to rush away from his extremities and into his core. Confused and upset at his sudden arousal, he looked away from the screen.

“Ben?”

“Mm?”

Armitage pressed his legs together under his comforter and sighed, tilting his hips back and forth. His anger softened with the casual familiarity of Ben’s response. He paused, trying to put a cap on it and failing. “Would you think it was… weird… if I—“

Ben perked up, his fingers creeping forward to tap at the scratch pad. The colors paused. “If you what?” Armitage breathed in sharply through his nose, lips in a bloodless white line. “Are you—?”

“I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, curling his toes and popping the earbuds out, his fingers twitching toward the _HANG-UP_ icon. “I’ll go. You should get some sleep. I should—I should go to bed.”

“’Tige,” Ben looked up at him through heavy lashes, hair curling over his forehead in a romantic flop. “Let me see you.”

“No. It’s—I’ll go.”

“Please?”

“I shouldn’t have—“

Ben turned onto his back, his face just a topography of brow and nose rising from behind shining black hair. Armitage watched his hips lift off of the mattress, bare toes pressed against a rustic headboard. A broad hand meandered down his midline, skimming against the folds of his tee shirt and moving down between his legs. Ben tipped his head back, a wicked glint in his upside-down expression.

“ _Pfassking hell_.”

Ben chuckled and lowered his hips, hand still resting on his crotch and thumb toying with the zipper-pull on his fly. “Let me see you.”

“N-no.”

“Spoil-sport.”

“You… you—you have to earn it.”

“Earn it?”

“Yes.” Armitage put his earbuds back in and cleared his throat, puffing himself up with all the bravado he’d lacked at the dinner table. “Earn it.”

“How do I do that?” Ben twisted onto his side and propped his head up against his hand.

“Figure it out.”

“Alright then. We’ll play your way.”

Armitage raised a brow, knowing Ben wouldn’t see it anyway. “Of course we’ll play my way.” He paused, feigned confidence ebbing. _TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES._ He typed.

“Why’d you stop talking?”

 _IT’S LATE._ Really, he was afraid of the way his voice was caught in his throat, like a cough that wouldn’t quite come.

“Have to keep quiet then, huh?”

_HAVING THE COMMANDANT CATCHING YOU WATCHING SOMETHING LEWD AND TOUCHING YOURSELF IS PROABLY A BIT MORE TRAUMATIC THAN WHATEVER MIGHT HAPPEN IF YOU WERE SEEN._

“He keeps tabs on your porn, too?”

_DON’T BE RIDICULOUS. IT WOULD JUST BE EXTREMELY EMBARRASSING._

“So you _are_ jerking it then?” Armitage cringed. Ben lowered his voice. “You want me to be _lewd_?”

_DRAW YOUR OWN CONCLUSIONS._

Ben grinned and adjusted himself absentmindedly.

_I BELIEVE I GAVE YOU AN ORDER._

“Ooh, is _that_ the game we’re playing?” He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. “That’s new.”

_SUSPEND DISBELIEF._

“Alright then,” Ben paused, looking away and chewing his lip. He flicked his eyes back toward the screen and Armitage wasn’t sure if he was aware of the effect and attempting to use it to maximum potential or simply being himself. “ _General_.”

Armitage pressed his lips together and tried to dampen the whimper that tickled at the back of his throat. He curled his fingers and touched his tattoo. He felt ridiculous. _CLOTHES. OFF. NOW._

Ben saluted mockingly and shifted on the bed again, making the laptop bounce and blurring the video image for a moment. He smiled to himself and tapped at the keys. Armitage could hear the low volume of the feedback from the laptop telling him that _voice narration_ was turned on. Ben sat cross-legged, smiling softly at the camera and plucking at the hem of his shirt. “Fast or slow?”

Armitage heard the vaguely British automated voice from Ben’s laptop reading his messages aloud. _SURPRISE ME._

Ben smirked, peeling his shirt slowly upward, serratus muscles shifting and pulling tight across his ribcage. His hair fell in a tangled fluff back around his ears when he finally yanked it over his head and tossed it aside. Not waiting to be prompted, he shifted to lie across the width of the bed. Stomach pulled in tight and shoulders pressed into the mattress, not much more than his torso was visible in the webcam’s frame. Armitage felt like a nervous virgin watching Ben undo his fly. He rubbed at himself through his shorts, watching Ben undulate and work his jeans down over his hips. The image shook, Ben kicking the pants away carelessly. Armitage watched him lazily run his hands over his body, chest rising and falling at an even pace.

_IS THAT A MONSTER ON YOUR COCK OR ARE YOU JUST HAPPY TO SEE ME?_

Ben erupted in a fit of laughter, snorting and sputtering.

_WHY IS FRANKENSTEIN ON YOUR CROTCH?_

Ben turned onto his side, grinning. “Do you like them?”

_THEY’RE SILLY._

“I know! Aren’t they great? I bought four others.”

_IT’S NOT EVEN HALLOWEEN YET._

“It’s October. As far as I’m concerned, it’s thirty-one days of Halloween.”

 _LEAVE THEM ON._ Armitage typed quickly, tapping the enter key as Ben hooked his thumbs into the elastic.

“I thought you said _clothes off_ , sir.” He pursed his lips and raised a brow.

_TOUCH YOURSELF._

_PLEASE._

_NO! KEEP YOUR HANDS OUTSIDE._

Ben frowned but obeyed, withdrawing his hands from the waistband. Settling down, he palmed himself through the stretchy fabric. He closed his eyes. “What else?”

_JUST TOUCH._

Ben continued to frown, getting nowhere. He rubbed at himself, pinched at his nipples, tugged at the soft hair on his midline. “This… this isn’t working.”

_STOP TRYING TO PERFORM._

Ben opened his eyes and glared at the screen. He pouted, using both hands to rub his chest. “Let me see you.” Armitage remained silent. “I need _more_ , ‘Tige.”

_NEEDY SLUT._

Ben’s eyes widened and he blushed dark pink. “’Tige!”

_HANDS OFF._

Ben’s hands fell to his sides. Armitage’s heart pounded in his chest, nervous.

 _TURN OVER._ Ben did, slowly. _NOW GET YOURSELF HARD. I’M WAITING._

“How’m I supposed to do that with no hands?”

 _NEEDY AND FOOLISH. USE THAT PRETTY HEAD TO THINK._ _IS THERE A BRAIN UNDER ALL THAT HAIR? OR IS THE COMMANDANT RIGHT ABOUT YOU?_

Ben’s expression soured, his cheeks flushing a deeper red. He covered his face with his hands for a moment, lying there on his stomach and not moving. Armitage began to panic. He’d taken it too far. After a tense moment, Ben rose up on his elbows, shifting his hips back. He rocked forward again, rolling with the motion as he skimmed the top of the covers. “Is this adequate, General?”

Armitage rubbed the tattoo on his thumb with his forefinger, the response practically Pavlovian. _YES. KEEP GOING._

Ben turned his face back toward the camera, just one eye visible. What Armitage could see of his expression was soft and open and his cheeks stayed pink. Soon enough, Ben’s eyes were fluttering closed and his mouth opening wider. He called out to Armitage in a breathy whisper.

_TAKE YOUR COCK OUT._

Ben made a broken sound and reached under himself, fiddling with the elastic of his underwear until it was snug under his balls, cock hard and flushed and twitching in the space between his hips and the mattress.

_KEEP GOING._

“Fuck.”

Armitage slipped his fingers into the vent of his shorts, stroking himself more earnestly. His head was full of the sounds of Ben shifting against the bed, the rustling of the covers against his body, the filthy sounds he was making—clearly trying to keep a cap on the volume himself and just barely succeeding. He ground his hips down against the mattress.

_DON’T YOU DARE COME. NOT YET._

“Why?” He sounded wounded, his voice going up an octave.

_BECAUSE I SAID SO. FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS YOU FUCKING TRAMP._

“Too much.”

_SORRY._

“It’s okay.” He let a slow breath out through pursed lips.

 _CAN YOU TURN?_ Ben turned his head, a questioning look on his face. _YOUR WHOLE BODY. FEET BY THE HEADBOARD._

“Oh—okay. Just… Give me a minute.” Ben rose up on his knees and shuffled. His face flushed darker as his cock bobbed. He settled with his shoulders low and his backside in the air. “Like this?”

_OH GOD YES. KEEP MOVING._

“’Tige, I want to—“

_I’LL LET YOU SEE ME IF YOU KEEP PLAYING. DO YOU WANT TO CONTINUE?_

Ben nodded.

_YOU CAN SAY NO. IT’S OK._

Ben shook his head and grabbed at the comforter, bunching it up under himself. He swept his hips forward and back—forward and back—forward and back. He twisted them down and planted his face against the bed, covering the back of his head with his hands.

_YOU CAN TOUCH YOURSELF._

Ben seemed to want to touch everywhere at once. He reached over his shoulders and down his sides. He twisted on the bed, rising up and then splaying his knees out. Armitage watched with a dry mouth as the yellowish light of the bedroom made highlights and shadows in the hollows of Ben’s muscles, making them stand out in relief. Ben raked his hands through his hair and swept his hands down, grabbing at his own hips and then at the round of his ass.

 _GRAB IT AGAIN. HARDER._ Ben whined and did as he was told. He looked up at the screen tentatively, his nose still buried in the folds of the blanket, and pulled back to smack the generous swell. _AGAIN._

“Ahh- _unngh_.” Ben trembled, palm cupped and making a sharp sound as it clapped against his backside. “ _Stars_ , ‘Tige, please… please…”

_I WAS RIGHT._

“You’re always right! Oh! Oh!”

 _YOU’RE A NEEDY SLUT._ Ben moaned and splayed his knees outward. Dimples in the muscles at the sides of his buttocks deepened as he tensed and moved his hips in short, fast jerks. _SAY IT, BEN._

His whole body shook. He pressed his lips tightly shut

_LOOK AT YOU, PUTTING ON A SHOW. SHOULD I TIP YOU? SUCH A PERFORMANCE WHEN YOU STOP TRYING SO HARD. NOW, SAY IT._

Armitage frowned at himself. It felt odd. He wasn’t enjoying any of it but felt like he’d gone too far to stop—and Ben seemed to like it. Armitage tugged at himself purposefully, his own erection shrinking and guilt growing like a parasite in his gut. It was just a game, one he didn’t anticipate such a thorough dislike of.

_BEN._

Ben continued to rut into the bedding, distracted. “I’m a _nee_ —I’m a needy— _sss_ —“

 _BEN_.

His hips worked faster and he jammed his hands under his body, shoulders tightening with the strain to reach his cock.

Armitage tapped the icon to allow the chat access to his camera. Ben shifted, leaning his weight onto one shoulder and pressing his cheek to the bed, eyes screwed shut. “Ben, look at me.”

Ben’s eyes popped open and he sobbed, whole body twitching and shaking as he came. Ben curled inward, trembling and wrapping his arms around is torso, holding himself. “Fuck,” he whispered when he seemed to find his tongue again. Speaking softly, voice muffled by his posture. “Did you… ‘Tige, did you come? You’re so quiet.”

Armitage took a deep breath and looked down at his cock in his hand, embarrassingly soft.

“Please, ‘Tige. Talk to me.” Ben tipped his head back, craning his neck to look at the laptop, eyes searching. The glow of the screen made his face look smooth and earnest.

“Yeah.” Armitage plastered a sloppy smile on his face and tucked himself back into his shorts. “I did.”

“You’re so quiet.”

“I just—“

“That was kind of intense.” Ben laughed and moved slowly, a hand still between his legs as he curled more comfortably on his side. “And different.”

“You… you liked that?” The things Armitage had said—typed—left a sour taste in his mouth, even if it was just a game.

“I think so. Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.”

“I—“

“Your eyes are all puffy.”

Armitage rubbed them with one hand and scrunched himself down into his pillows. “Sorry.”

“You should get to sleep.”

“Are you alright?” Ben seemed distant, unfocused.

“Yeah, yeah… just…”

“Just what?”

“I wish you were here.” He barked out a soft laugh. “I’m kinda lonely now. I think I need a hug.”

“Well, you can have one when you get back.”

Ben smiled, his eyes drooping for a moment. “It’s late. You’ve gotta face the cavalry in the morning, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I think I’m gonna—“ He paused, yawning widely. “Gonna take a shower and go to bed. I can stay up, though, if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. We both need to get some sleep. Go get yourself cleaned up.”

Ben winced and haphazardly pulled his underwear back up properly, sitting up with some effort. “Good night, ‘Tige.”

“Night, Ben.”

“Call me if you need me, okay? I can come back.”

“No, no. You don’t need to do that.”

“You sure?” Armitage nodded and insisted he’d call. “Okay.” Ben paused, mouth open as if to say something more. He flushed pink and bit his lip. “Later.” Armitage nodded and tapped the icon to disconnect the call.

In a cozy family home hours north, Ben would be stumbling into a hot shower. He’d probably be humming off key. He’d probably be scrubbing his hair into a tangled froth with something that smelled infuriatingly like honey. He might touch himself again, not to get off but for the odd comfort of it—alone and post-coital and _needy_ and happy. He would dry off and crawl into the warmth of a bed that likely reeked of nostalgia, now laced with new and strange intimacy in his adult life. He’d stretch his long limbs and then burrow down and drift away.

In a new-money estate on Staten Island, Armitage shivered under his comforter. Droplets plinked against his window as the rain began again in earnest after so many hours of silence. He leaned over to place his tablet and glasses on the night stand and then pulled the bedding up over his head. Closing his eyes and shutting out the nighttime sounds of the rest of the house, he focused on the sick feeling in his stomach.

The Commandant was right, of course. He always was.

Armitage was weak-willed. He couldn’t chose a clear path in life any more than he could navigate the path of his relationship with Ben—always going too far or not far enough, making things up as he went along.

Cold and gutted, he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Brendol Hux is not nice. Established in the previous installments in this series, he is extremely controlling in a way that skews toward abusive. In this fic, the Commandant insults Armitage repeatedly and passionately in the presence of others while slightly drunk. The abuse is verbal/psychological, but it is abuse nonetheless. There is no longer any vagueness or candy-coating from this point onward, even if Armitage is loathe to put a label on it.
> 
> And here's Ben's undies. They are an actual thing you can buy and I think they're delightful.  
> 


End file.
